Warriors of the Morn
Stallions flying
in the blackened sky,
galloping steeds, chariots ablaze,
liquid smoke of copper red,
streaming across the firmament,
battle ready giants in their glory,
battle cries with piercing voices,
perforating the night with
bloody spears, wielding swords,
biceps bulging, shredding shirts,
flaunting black aegises, fists of iron,
hands of stone, waving banners,
brandishing sculls on poles,
all in a day for the
warriors of the morn,
and warriors springing up
from their underground nests,
their regeneration stations
of lightning bolts and robotic parts,
razor talons and pterodactyl wings,
rising up in the eastern skies,
battling the clouds,
burning through the thick haze,
charging into the black smoke,
carrying the sun on their backs,
fighting fire with fire,
looking westward
to the thick of the battle,
grinding their teeth,
swallowing their hearts,
readying for the
westward journey
with the sun blazing the way,
all in the day for the
warriors of the morn.
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